


let winter rule always

by casuallyhuman



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Jack can sort of hear Elsa's thoughts, STRAP IN FOLKS, but here we are, it's a lil weird but we're going with it, lmaoooo I can't believe I did this shit, take my pile of trash okay?, this one's a doozie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyhuman/pseuds/casuallyhuman
Summary: “-and of course he didn’t actually say anything- he never does, does he—but I thought it could be helpful for you, if he listened.”“Yeah, thanks, bud.” Jack says absentmindedly, swirling a small flurry around his fingertips. He has better things to do than pay attention to the so-called ‘Spring Conference’ Tooth and North insist on having after the end of each winter. They’re always boring and rarely helpful—it’s a true testament to his good will that he’s managed to sit still this long.“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Tooth pitches in. “I don’t know how I managed without my fairies. It’s nice, of course, to see to the children yourself, but sometimes it’s a lot to manage by one’s self. Everyone needs help every now and again.”At this Jack snaps out of his thoughts, suddenly getting the sinking feeling that he should’ve been paying attention. “Wait, what?”(Or: North talks to the Man in the Moon about getting Jack an assistant or something. Instead, Jack starts getting someone else's feelings.)
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa (Disney)/Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I do, in fact, realize that Without a Stark hasn't been updated in 3 months. And I know I've never done Frozen before. But fucking sue me, alright? This ship has been bugging me for literal YEARS at this point. 
> 
> Here we go. Before reading, please take note: In this story, Jack died when he was like 20ish. Pitch is a thing that happened, and probably Jamie, but I fucked with the timeline so much you won't be able to tell. Keep in mind that Frozen takes place in 1839, when Elsa is 21, and Frozen 2 in 1842, when she's 23.
> 
> Also, I know this concept is weird, okay? And that technically, Jack is way older than Elsa and maybe that makes this weird for some people. But there’s not actually any underage interaction at all, okay? None. But if you still aren’t cool with the idea, just don’t read it.

“-and of course he didn’t actually _say_ anything- he never does, does he—but I thought it could be helpful for you, if he listened.”

“Yeah, thanks, bud.” Jack says absentmindedly, swirling a small flurry around his fingertips. He has better things to do than pay attention to the so-called ‘Spring Conference’ Tooth and North insist on having after the end of each winter. They’re always boring and rarely helpful—it’s a true testament to his good will that he’s managed to sit still this long.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Tooth pitches in. “I don’t know how I managed without my fairies. It’s nice, of course, to see to the children yourself, but sometimes it’s a lot to manage by one’s self. Everyone needs help every now and again.”

At this Jack snaps out of his thoughts, suddenly getting the sinking feeling that he should’ve been paying attention. “Wait, _what_?”

North sighs. “I _said_ I talked to the Man in the Moon about getting you some help, Jack. You’ve got a lot on your plate, you know—nearly all the rest of us have teams or something to divvy up the work. It’s no wonder North America’s been so chaotic, really.”

The younger Guardian laughs. “I don’t need help! I like doing this by myself—no one slowing me down, trying to interfere. I’m messing with North America on _purpose_. It’s hilarious, which you’d know if you watched some of these people try to figure out what’s going on. I’m the Guardian of _fun_ , remember? Let me do my job.”

Tooth and North share a long, meaningful look and Jack has to stop himself from huffing in frustration. He’s been a Guardian for centuries and somehow he’s _still_ an outsider. 

The fairy breaks the gaze and places a gentle hand on Jack’s. “I know you think that now. We all did, really. But you haven’t been here as long as we have, Jack. Eternity can get lonely after a while.”

He squeezes her hand. “I appreciate the thought, really. But I’m not lonely. I have you guys, the kids—and there’s plenty to do.”

She and North sigh simultaneously and share another long look between them. He’s beginning to get the distinct feeling that he’s a child in this scenario, and they the parents. He doesn’t like it.

“Everyone needs a break,” North says gruffly. “Even you.”

Jack shrugs and pulls away from Tooth, grabs his staff. “Not what I heard. No rest for the wicked, right? I’ve gotta go—heard about a town in Australia that hasn’t seen snow in a few hundred years and I’d _really_ like to change that. I’ll see you later—try not to ruin my life, eh?”

\--

For the next several years, Jack thinks nothing of North and Tooth’s opinions. After all, he doesn’t _need_ help. He can fly, go anywhere, and he’s really good at his job. There’s not that much to it. He has fun, and along the way he throws some flurries or snowballs at someone, and _poof_. Winter.

And it’s not actually like he’s _lonely_. He’s not. He plays with Jamie, with babies, and when he’s not doing that he can always torment Bunnymund or have a chat with Tooth. The Guardians see a lot of each other. There are conferences, potlucks, lunches. There’s no _space_ to be lonely.

That’s what he says in the beginning, anyway.

It’s probably 25 years after that little discussion that he begins to think about it.

Because, while he may not truly be lonely, he does sometimes feel… alone. North has his elves, Tooth has her fairies, even Bunnymund has eggs. Sandy’s the oldest—he has _everyone_. And he sleeps all the time, which Jack imagines makes things simpler. But, while Jack has friends, he doesn’t really have anyone to call his _own_. Not like the other Guardians do.

Not being one to admit defeat, he decides to table the thought for later.

After all, he has all the time in the world.

\--

It first happens soon before the Christmas of 1818, when he and the rest of the Guardians (save Toothiana, who is apparently dealing with a ‘tooth emergency’) are taking a break from the preparations at North’s place.

First he’s sitting, laughing at North’s impression of Bunnymund (it’s awful), and suddenly he’s just… not. He feels discomfort, anger, _cold_ —he didn’t even know he _could_ feel cold anymore—and they can’t be shaken, these feelings, even though they’re not _his_ , he’s _fine_.

And then, just as fast as it came, the sensation is gone. He’s warm again, content (if slightly confused), with his friends, who are giving him odd looks.

“What’s wrong with _you_?” Bunnymund asks, roughly enough that North elbows him and Sandy raises a judgemental eyebrow.

Jack shakes his head, clears his throat. “Just a weird feeling. It’s fine, sorry.”

Sandy still looks concerned, but North shrugs it off and then they’re right back to talking about Easter.

\--

A princess is born three days before the Christmas of 1818, on the winter solstice.

Her parents name her Elsa.

\--

It doesn’t come again, really, until October that year. He’s in Scandinavia, frosting windows and freezing lakes, when he gets the foreign feelings again. He’s… angry, suddenly, red-faced and furious, so much so that he gets the strangest urge to scream at the sky. It lasts longer than the first time, the anger, but it soon subsides to a gentle lull. It’s still weird, this feeling that can’t be his, but it’s calm. By the time he makes it to the Continent, it’s gone completely.

\--

He thinks he’s figured it out five years later.

The odd moods usually come when he’s in Scandinavia, or close by. They’re strongest in the south, but try as he might, he can’t follow them. They come and go too quickly. They’re not usually as intense now as they were in the beginning but, still—it’s strange.

He doesn’t tell any of the Guardians. He doesn’t know why, really—he tells Tooth everything, has for decades, but this feels different for some reason. Personal, like he’d be betraying someone if he let someone else find out.

Besides, though the Scandinavian lead is good, it’s not perfect. After all, the first time he’d felt something had been in the North Pole, and, once or twice, he’s had the sensations nowhere _near_ Europe.

So he doesn’t know what’s going on. And, frankly, if he hasn’t figured it out in five years, he doubts the rest of the Guardians can help him either. This, combined with the strangely private nature the feelings seem to have, prompt him to decide that it’s none of their business.

He can deal with it himself.

\--

Three years later, he’s in Denmark with Bunnymund and North having beer. (He hates the stuff, but North had insisted it’s the best he’d ever tasted and somehow Jack had gotten roped into the outing as well).

“The elves want _another_ raise,” North growls into his glass, foam covering his mustache. “I already feed them, clothe them, house them, and pay them but now they’re obsessed with seeing this fellow Beethoven. I _much_ prefer opera.”

Jack has to hold in a laugh at this—he’d never quite pictured North as enjoying the opera, of all things—as Bunnymund downs the rest of his drink. “You know how these young nippers are. Even the eggs are complaining now—just want to go to the boozers all the time, the degenerates. Makes me crazy, that.”

“You two are so _old_ ,” Jack complains. “Soon enough I’m going to ask the Moon for a new Guardian just so I don’t have to just see your ugly faces all the time.”

Bunnymund protests, but North laughs richly. “When I asked, I got Bunny. That’ll just backfire, my boy.”

This only leads to more griping (and a few obscenities) from the rabbit as Jack chuckles at their antics.

He’s sipping his cocoa (he’d long since swapped out the beer) when he gets a feeling again.

This one’s _bad_.

He grunts, doubling over and grabbing the table for support as a wash of _pain, anger, guilt_ rushes through him all at once like a tidal wave. Someone’s grasping his shoulder, but it’s difficult to focus on that with the overwhelming _shame, sadness_ that won’t leave him be, that make tears fall, a sob escape.

Jack hiccoughs, brings a hand to his head and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to make it go away.

After a few moments it lessens enough for him to sit up and take a deep breath.

To his surprise, North and Bunny are both out of their chairs, peering down at him in concern. “Jack?”

\--

A hundred miles away, Elsa of Arendelle watches a troll place his hand on her sister’s head.

\--

“I don’t know, okay? There’s no need to worry over it, jeez.” Jack pushes North’s hand off his face. “Besides, I seriously doubt I have a fever. That’s _not_ how this works.”

Tooth sighs from her place on his other side. “Why didn’t you mention this before? We could’ve tried to help.”

“Ay,” North seconds, rising from his place to stand loomingly over Jack’s chair. “We’re in this together, you know.”

Jack crosses his arms, feeling strangely defensive. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to.”

He doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in Toothiana’s eyes. “Well, if that’s how you feel. We’ll leave you alone, okay? But we’re here if you change your mind.”

Tooth nudges a protesting North out of his guest room, where’s Jack’s been (unwillingly) staying for the past few hours, and the white-haired Guardian flops back on the bed, thoughtfully chasing snowflakes with his fingers.

He should be more concerned, he knows. These feelings-that-aren’t-his—they’re weird. This isn’t a problem he should be having. Guardians can have pain, of course, but it’s when belief flags, when children are sad, when their elements decline. But they don’t get other people’s _feelings_ , for moon’s sake.

And it’s not really _people’s_ , per se—it’s _a_ person’s. Singular. He doesn’t know quite how he can tell, but every time he has an… episode, he supposes he’ll call it, it’s familiar. Still weird, yes, but it’s the same _kind_ of weird.

Guiltily, he looks at the door that Tooth and North and (even) Bunnymund are likely worrying behind. _They don’t deserve this,_ he thinks. _It’s not their fault._

He reluctantly pushes himself off the be, grabbing his staff and pushing the door open. As he suspected, the three are speaking gravely in the opposite corner, though the conversation halts at his entrance.

Jack rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding their expectant eyes. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so weird. It’s just—I don’t know what’s happening. And I figured you wouldn’t really be able to help, since it’s my head. I didn’t want to worry anyone or anything.”

Tooth, as always, is the first one to comfort him. “Jack, it’s okay! We weren’t upset, just worried. You’ve been a little distant lately.”

He grimaces. “Yeah, it’s all just been on my mind lately. I’m sorry.”

North shakes his head and claps his shoulder hard enough to make Jack trip. “ _We_ sure as hell don’t know what’s wrong with you, so no harm, my boy. Just tell us if there’s anything we can do to help you figure it out, eh?”

Jack tries to good-heartedly with his shoulder and fails miserably. North laughs with that big, booming voice of his and returns the favor with far more success. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, boy. Just fine.”

\--

Jack’s not fine.

\--

His affliction only gets stranger.

The emotions range wildly, but he doesn’t really feel them anymore if he’s not in Scandinavia, which is a plus. So he’s doing okay, all things considered.

(Sort of. There may or may not be two years in a row where there isn’t technically a winter there. The others are kind enough not to mention it.)

In the next seven years, the emotions… change. It’s weird—they remind him of _before_. Or what he remembers of before, anyway—of when he was a teenager, struggling to find his place, to find _himself_. The feelings become more and more extreme, to the point that on one of his (very very) fast jaunts through Norway he gets smacked in the (metaphorical?) gut with angst. One moment he’s flying in the clouds, making one of the prettiest blizzards he has in a while, and the next he’s hurtling towards the ground with the strange urge to bawl.

(Once he hits the ground he does, in fact, curl into a ball and cry. He/they feel marginally better.)

He manages to narrow the range down. He’d originally believed the person was in Sweden; been nearly positive, in fact, that they were there. But the more time he spends there, the more he tracks the emotions, the more sure he is that they’re actually in Norway. Close to Sweden, so maybe on the southern border, but definitely Norway.

He doesn’t get _used_ to the emotions, per se, but when they come he’s much better at taking them in a stride. He discovers it’s best to go along with them, to let them invade his consciousness, than it is to try to avoid them.

Some, however—some he has trouble with.

For instance, fifteen years after he’d first felt the feelings-that-weren’t-his, he and Sandy are playing a game of poker with Tooth in the North Pole. Sandy, as it turns out, is _incredible_ at poker, and for several years now it’s been Jack’s sole aim to win a hand. This game, like the rest, isn’t looking great for Jack’s (admittedly stolen) wallet.

Nevertheless, he claims smugly: “Think I’ve got you this time, bud.”

Sandy isn’t buying his shit. He calls.

Jack curses and throws his hand down. “Fine. You’re right, I was lying, I owe you everything I own. But joke’s on you, brother,” At this he leans back in his chair, kicks his feet up on the table, “I don’t technically _own_ anything.”

Sandy rolls his eyes and takes the chips anyway while Toothiana gently pushes his bare feet to the floor. “You should really stop stealing wallets, Jack.” She admonishes quietly, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. She knows just as well as he that he only tends to swipe things from pushy shop owners and greasy politicians.

Jack snags a lollipop from the table and pops it in his mouth. “There’s only so much to _do_ , you know. I don’t have an army of tooth fairies to boss around to entertain myself.”

“I don’t boss!”

He laughs, standing to grab another deck of cards. “Call it what you like, Tooth.”

She huffs a little and rolls her eyes, but quietly goes back to stacking her chips.

Jack hums and grabs the flashiest set of cards they have in their arsenal, shuffling them and subtly icing the good cards.

(He doesn’t _usually_ resort to cheating, but he’s desperate, okay?)

“Alright, folks,” He announces dramatically, beginning to deal the cards out. “The game: Blackjack. The stake: servitude for a week. Play well, and most importantly—” at this he grins at Tooth, “—don’t let Sandy win.”

He’s sitting down when he feels it: a bloom of warmth. At first he thinks it’s just their happiness, so he sinks into the feeling, letting it overtake him as he’s found is easiest. He doesn’t mind sharing joy, anyway, and he’s quite happy this other person has managed to _find_ joy. They’ve been depressed for too long.

So he smiles to himself and deals out the last card, paying little mind to the sensation.

Until he realizes that the feeling is _not_ , in fact, happiness. Not in the strict sense of the word, anyway.

His cheeks flush as the warmth overtakes him, biting his tongue to keep in the moan that’s threatening to leave his throat—because by the _Moon_ , it’s been a _long_ time since he’s felt anything like this, anything that makes him want to shudder and close his eyes and find a sock.

“Jack?” Tooth’s asking inquisitively as he gasps quietly for air. “Are you—is everything okay?”

“—fine.” He chokes out, standing abruptly, trying to subtly pull his hoodie down as he bids his exit. “I just, um…” He runs a fast hand through his hair and grabs his staff. “I’ll be back in a minute, alright?”

He doesn’t wait on a response— _can’t_ wait on a response—instead opting to fly _up_ , to the cold relief of the clouds, as fast as possible.

Even with the respite of the soothing chill, he can’t contain his shout as he— _they_ —reach their release.

\--

So, yeah. Jack has things under control, mostly. Sometimes there are issues.

The thing that… _happened_ that day happens again, though it’s not normally as intense as the first time. And it’s not like it happens terribly often, though he always feels it, even if he’s on the other side of the world. It can make things difficult, to be sure, but he learns the warning signs quickly enough. If he’s with another Guardian, or a kid, he can make his excuses easily enough and find somewhere to be alone.

But again, it doesn’t happen _that_ often. It happens the most in 1833, after that first time, but after a few months the frequency slows considerably and it’s back to mostly having the episodes only when he’s near southern Norway.

He thinks he’s starting to figure it out by 1836.

He knows the following: the feelings first began in 1818. They were primal, basic in nature. As time passed, they became more complex and layered, though after the strange, intense guilt episode of 1826 they did seem to be mostly sad.

Usually, he only shares the feeling when he’s in some sort of proximity to the person, though if they’re particularly strong it doesn’t seem to matter where he is.

And then, in 1833… well.

But, armed with the knowledge that 1833 was the first time this person had found release (in _at least_ 15 years), he thinks… he thinks he’s experiencing the feelings of someone who’s growing up.

Which, yeah, is weird. Super weird. And personal. It’s been a long time (and a death) since he grew up, but he doesn’t think he’d have liked it too much if he thought someone else was privy to his most intense teenage feelings.

Though it’s not like he has a _choice_. The only thing he could have done was avoid the area completely, but even that doesn’t stop it from happening completely, so what’s the point?

So he keeps going to Norway. Brings winter, brings fun and snow and tries to enjoy himself, despite the slightly sad foreign sensations that always seem to niggle at his heart every time.

(He knows little about the person, it’s true. But he does know two things in 1836: they’re eighteen, and they’re incredibly sad.)

\--

1836 doesn’t turn out to be a good year. He thought the episode in 1826 was bad, but the one in late 1836 is beyond anything he’s ever felt.

First of all, he’s not even near Norway. He’s in Argentina, making the snow storm of a _lifetime_ in the Andes and having the most fun he’s had in ages.

He’s standing on a mountain peak when it hits him: grief. Like he’s never felt before. Like he didn’t even know could _exist_. It’s sadness, it’s heartache, it’s _pain_ that stabs at his insides until he can’t even stand.

For three hours, on a mountaintop in Argentina on the coldest day of the year, Jack Frost weeps for a loss that isn’t his.

\--

After that day in 1836, he chases the feelings.

He does so with more gusto than he ever has before. He knows, logically, that he can’t do anything to help. He probably can’t change whatever’s happened, or be of any comfort, given that he’s invisible, but _damn it to hell_ if he isn’t going to try.

So he flies to southern Norway, rides the wind as well and as fast as he knows how, and searches.

But, like his other searches, this one fizzles once he gets near the border to Sweden, by Arendelle. Well, not exactly _fizzle_ ; that’s not quite how it works. The feelings just get as intense as they can, and no matter where he goes within the region, the sorrow can’t get any stronger.

He doesn’t get it, this emotional map. It leads him just close enough to know that they’re _here_ , but not close enough for him to _find_ them.

(If he doesn’t leave Arendelle for a week, if it suffers the worst winter storms it’s seen in centuries, who’s to know?)

\--

Christmas that year is _ass_ , and Jack doesn’t quite know how to explain to the others why he’d decided to go on a blizzard rampage.

“Honestly, Jack, when I asked for a white Christmas this is _not_ what I meant.” North grumbles, shaking snow off his coat.

Bunnymund shrugs, sipping his cocoa. “So long as you leave Easter alone, I couldn’t care less.”

Behind Bunny, North makes his hand move as if talking, red face screwed up mockingly. When he doesn’t even chuckle at the jeering, North’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong with you, boy-o? With all the ice _you’ve_ been making, you should be in the best mood of your life.”

Tooth chooses this moment to enter, setting down fresh cocoa for everyone. “That’s true, you have seemed rather down lately. Everything okay?”

Jack shrugs in response, pushing his mug around on the table. “You know how it is. They’ve been sad lately.”

“Oh?” North says conversationally, pretending that he’s not that invested in the conversation, though Jack rarely speaks of his… _issue_. “So you’ve been to Norway, then?”

He nods. “I think… I think someone they cared about died.”

Tooth places a kind hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

He shakes his head mutely. “It’s not like I _knew_ whoever they were. I just wish I could help, you know?”

She squeezes him gently before releasing him to sit down. “Of course. It’s in our nature, Jack. We’re _meant_ to cheer people up. Have you had any more luck finding them?”

“No.” He sighs. “I think they might be in Arendelle, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I can’t narrow it down any further.”

He isn’t looking up from his mug, but he’s certain from the silence that they’re sharing concerned glances.

“Well,” North ventures carefully, “It’s about to be my off season. Do you want some help looking?”

“We don’t know what we’re looking _for_. I think they’re eighteen, but I don’t even know _that_ , really. It could be anyone in the entire country, North.”

The other man sighs. “I s’pose so. Well, if you change your mind…”

Jack manages a smile of gratitude. “Of course I will. Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

\--

The grief abates, a little, over the next year. Not completely, and there’s always that sadness, but it’s not quite as soul-consuming as it was in the beginning. He’s glad this person, whoever they are, is healing, even if they’re still mostly unhappy when he’s in Arendelle.

Three years afterwards, in the July of 1839, something changes.

Something _big_.

He’s felt that something was coming for a couple of months now. Every time he goes near the country lately he feels nervous fear with just the _slightest_ tinge of excitement. So, yeah. _Something_.

So, really, who could blame him if he’s started hanging around more than he strictly should be? It’s not like he’s giving them any snow or anything, though he does know his presence makes the air just the least bit more cool than it should be.

 _That’s just a plus_ , he thinks smugly to himself as he flies to land on the roof of a house near the town square and observes the bustle of the city.

Try as he might, he can’t find anything out of the ordinary. There’s a coronation or something planned for the princess next week, but besides that, it’s an ordinary summer day.

Just for the fun of it, before he leaves he goes to the North Mountain and ices a bit of the lake the ice harvesters like to frequent. Might as well give them a _little_ something, right? 

\--

A week later, he’s in Italy when he feels it. It takes him a moment, because he’s not used to feeling it from _them_ , but he identifies it soon enough: they’re having _fun_.

They’re not just having fun, it’s more than that: they’re _free_.

Jack can’t help it, he laughs with glee, sinks into the feeling, and _flies_.

And the small town of Cosenza has a freak snowstorm on what the almanac had predicted would be the hottest day of the year.

\--

That day, evidently, is a shift in Jack’s strange companion’s life. The next time he flies near Arendelle, the sadness is gone. Cheerfulness, contentment takes its place.

There’s a little stress, something Jack thinks might be responsibility (the Moon knows he hasn’t felt _that_ particular emotion in a while), but besides that? His person is happy.

It’s good news from them, for once, and enough to placate him. He stops worrying about finding them, about pinpointing the person who’s giving him these feelings, and instead returns to his (semi) normal life.

\--

It’s three years of that. Three wonderful, love-filled happy years of their life. When he goes to Arendelle now, he can’t help but bask in it, enjoy the Mountain and the lake and countryside in the winter, giving the small country fun-filled flurries and easy winters. He helps the ice traders, rather than taunt them, and stops icing the ground just to watch the rude pudgy bread baker slip.

He’s back to his old self, and the other Guardians couldn’t be more pleased. He’s back to playing with Tooth’s fairies, to pranking Bunnymund. He even gives North a mostly-white Christmas in 1839 when he’s feeling particularly generous.

All in all, his life is much better now that _they’re_ better. And he _certainly_ knows they’re better when his help with Easter is interrupted by a blooming warmth in his stomach they haven’t shared in a _long_ time that he’s definitely not going to stay here for.

He grins at Bunnymund, makes an excuse, and takes towards the skies.

Yeah—Jack is _definitely_ fine. 

\--

It’s autumn of 1842 when a song like a siren call tugs him out of a calm contemplation. 

He sits up, alert, somehow knowing in his gut that it’s coming from _them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a kudos or comment if you liked it! Always love some sweet, sweet feedback :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song isn’t a feeling, which does puzzle Jack. He’s never heard his person before, only felt them.
> 
> Still, it’s instinctual the moment he hears it. It will lead him to them; he’s sure of it.
> 
> He wastes no time. He grabs his staff, jumps to the wind, and chases the call that must be pulling him to Arendelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter! Be grateful for this one, y'all--it's been a busy couple of weeks. It's a miracle this came out. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The song isn’t a feeling, which does puzzle Jack. He’s never _heard_ his person before, only felt them.

Still, it’s instinctual the moment he hears it. It will lead him to them; he’s _sure_ of it.

He wastes no time. He grabs his staff, jumps to the wind, and chases the call that _must_ be pulling him to Arendelle.

\--

Except, the thing is: the call isn’t coming from Arendelle. He’d assumed it was, because it was them, his companion, and, historically, they don’t ever really _leave_ the country. Not that he’s noticed, anyway. (Granted, he does only tend to go to Norway during the winter, so his logic isn’t completely foolproof.)

In any case, Arendelle is certainly their home.

Which makes this…sound, this call, even more strange. Because once he gets to Arendelle, it’s still tugging at him; but it’s coming from further north, despite the onslaught of feelings he’s receiving in the city.

He growls, taking to the clouds once again, and tracks it, finally, to the Dark Sea.

He doesn’t like the Dark Sea. Never has, really: it’s like the Bermuda Triangle. Mother Nature just doesn’t want anyone there, and she makes it unpleasant enough that neither people nor spirits tend to travel it.

Which is fine by Jack. Without people, there’s really no need for his talents. He’d much rather tease up a snowball fight in a crowded park than tend to a lifeless sea.

So he’s not particularly familiar with it. He doesn’t know the glaciers, the islands, so when he finally finds his destination, he’s a bit out of his element.

From above, he finds this particular glacier intimidating. The waters around it are even more rough and choppy than the rest of the sea, and there’s a mouth to some sort of cave on the side, light spilling out. Beckoning.

The second his feet touch the ground he knows he has to enter.

The call. It’s here.

He enters slowly at first, but as the song grows in volume he can’t help himself, he’s so _close_. He runs.

The passageways, the caverns are all ice. It sings around him, pushes him forward, until finally he’s _there_.

It’s black in front of him, so _dark_ he can’t help but hesitate a moment.

But it calls him, _pulls_ him, and he steps inside.

The song crescendos, pushing, and he _feels_ rather than sees that he should keep going. There’s a snowflake etched in the blackness of the icy floor; he knows, without a doubt, that the voice is telling him it’s where he’s meant to be. And, as he’s in no place to start questioning the voice now, not when he’s followed it this far, he goes.

The second he does—something happens. The song is silenced, his surroundings darken.

“What?” He mutters to himself, hand tightening on his staff.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The ice around him lightens until he hears—he hears _North_?

Yes, it’s North—but he’s not here, he’s up there, his image somehow projected onto the steep walls around him. And he’s not talking to Jack.

“The rest of us have someone,” He’s saying, looking upwards. “I think you should give someone to Jack. He needs it.”

The scene on the wall cuts—it’s to the glowing grey of the full moon, hanging stark against the night sky.

And Jack gets it.

“Oh,” He breathes to the image. “ _You_ did this.”

The Man in the Moon says nothing.

Jack’s brow furrows. What was the point of this? Why was he brought here, if not to finally find this person, this _gift_? Where _were_ they?

“Show me,” He says, a little more assertive than he probably should be. “Show me! Where are they?”

The image doesn’t change, but Jack’s convinced the Moon is mocking him.

“ _Show me_!” He yells again, this time _pushing_ with his mind, his thoughts, his _feelings_ , and something stirs. 

Ice begins to swirl around him at his action, and finally the image on the ice leaves, left with only the magical dim light from the surrounding glacier. His anger at the loss only fuels his power, the flurry of ice and snow spinning until he’s lifted with it, whipping around him, _through_ him, and something _breaks_.

The ice stops, falling softly to the ground, he with it, and suddenly everything around him is white.

The snow is soft beneath his feet as he looks _up_.

There’s a castle. Not really a _castle_ , per se, as it’s made of snow, but still its appearance nags at his mind. He’s seen it before, he’s sure of it.

One of the sparkling front doors swings in front of him. Decided, he pushes it forward and enters.

The inside is a bustle of movement and hurry; people ( _snow_ people) are rushing around, some with water, some with blankets, some with paper.

“Hurry up!” A woman with a large basket yells behind her as a young girl follows with a stack of towels. “At this rate, the baby’s probably already come!”

A _baby_?

Curious, Jack follows the pair, treading lightly. It’s odd—after he elects to follow them the surroundings go quiet and the others disappear. Still, he doesn’t question it. After all, the day has been odd enough already, and he’s close to the answer. He’s certain.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” The young woman asks the older. “The king said a boy. I bet he’s right.”

The other woman snorts. “Men don’t know anything, my dear. The _queen_ thinks it’s a girl, so I’m sure it is.”

“It’s not like there’s any way to know, though, is there?”

“No, of course not,” The older lady agrees. “But women tend to be right more often than not with these matters. You’ll see.”

The two come to a stop in front of a tall set of double doors, where two icy guards with spears wait.

“We’ve brought the linens.” The woman says, chin raised, and the two men only spare each other a quick glance before stepping aside to let them pass. Jack files in quickly behind them, barely getting in the room before the doors shut behind him.

The two women fall silent after entering the room, keeping to the walls. They walk quietly towards the bed, where two figures sit, their attention rapt on a small bundle.

“She has your eyes,” One says, a man with dark hair.

Jack approaches the scene carefully. This may not be real, but still—he knows intimacy when he sees it. Really here or not, he’s intruding.

The woman smooths a hand over the child’s brow. “Babes often have blue eyes, Agnarr. They could change.”

“They won’t.” Agnarr says confidently, a hand on the woman’s back.

“Do you still think we should call her Summer?” The woman asks, studying the girl’s face. “I don’t know if I like it now that I see her. She doesn’t seem like a Summer. Today _is_ the winter solstice, after all.”

“Perhaps not,” Agnarr says thoughtfully. “What do you think, my love? You did all the work, it seems fair you name her.”

She peers down thoughtfully, and Jack finally catches his first glimpse of the child. She’s tiny— _so_ tiny, and pale. Pale as snow, with hair to match. _They’re right about one thing,_ he thinks. _Her name certainly isn’t Summer._

“Elsa,” The woman says finally, definitively. “What do you think?”

Her husband smiles softly, pulling her and the babe close to his chest. “Perfect.”

Jack agrees.

She looks away from the babe for a moment, towards the window of snow. Jack can’t see anything, but clearly she can, because she says: “Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight? I know it’s silly—but I almost feel as if it’s come out just for her.”

Agnarr looks, too, contemplative. “Yes,” He murmurs. “almost.”

Jack looks down at the baby girl, who coos innocently, and realization suddenly strikes him: it’s _her_.

 _That’s_ why he’s here. _She’s_ his help. _She’s_ who the moon sent. He’s been having _her_ sadness, _her_ grief, _her_ delight.

It’s been _her_.

“Oh, princess,” Her father coos back to the child, interrupting his thoughts, “you should be getting rest.”

His wife laughs shortly. “Maybe this is good practice for her. We _do_ tend to stay awake long after the rest of the kingdom has fallen to bed.”

Agnarr sighs, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. “True enough. I admit, I have selfish motives; I’d mainly like her to sleep so _we_ can sleep. Yes,” He coos again, touching the baby’s nose gently. “even Queen Elsa needs her sleep, doesn’t she?”

The words send another jolt through him, though it takes him a longer moment to process why, to add the clues in his head, the ones he should’ve put together _ages_ ago.

The familiar castle. _King_ Agnarr. The feelings he’d had in Arendelle the weeks before the coronation.

_Queen Elsa._

His companion, his person—it’s the _Queen_ of _Arendelle_.

There’s a loud clatter, then, from out the door, and the two snow figures freeze in position, as do the two maids who had been quietly unloading linens.

Jack takes it as his cue to follow the source of the noise, peeking out the tall intricate doors.

A fast, reckless giggling figure nearly bowls him over as it races past. “Can’t catch me!” The little girl yells, pigtails flying as she turns, and Jack grins. If he knows anything, it’s children playing games.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a ball whizzes past his face to hit the girl in the pigtails in the back of the head, where it breaks apart. Jack finds this confusing, for a moment, because _why is there snow inside a castle?,_ but he’s momentarily distracted by a new arrival.

“I _always_ catch you!” A new figure yells in pursuit, slightly taller than the other. He chuckles to himself and flies after her.

By the time he and the elder girl reach a large, open ballroom-esque chamber, the smaller is halfway up the stairs. She finds the time to stick her tongue out and blow a raspberry. “Na-na-na-na-nah!”

The taller grins up at the girl in pigtails, a smug look on her face that Jack doesn’t quite understand, and she raises two outstretched hands.

Evidently, however, the younger girl does get what’s going on, because she squeals loudly and covers her head with her arms. “ _Elsa, no_ — _!_ " She begins to yell in protest.

She is interrupted by a giant pile of snow that materializes directly above her head and promptly falls to engulf her.

The elder—Elsa, apparently—erupts in laughter as Jack stares in shock.

The snow—it’d come from _her_. She’d just—she’d just _made_ it. She didn’t even have a _staff_ , she used her _hands_. 

But she’s human, she must be, Jack just saw her _birth_.

Right?

The two figures, as before, suddenly pause, and the scene changes.

New figures appear, dancing around him, and the two young girls disappear as lively music strikes up.

He walks around carefully, avoiding the moving snow people who sway to the music, until he makes it to the edge of the room and leans against the wall.

What is going on?

He knows the Moon must be the one showing him this, so obviously this is important. This woman, his companion—Queen Elsa—already has a power, can already manipulate the ice in the air. Has been able to since her youth, evidently. So now what? Is he just—should he just go find her, now? But no, it’s can’t be that simple, she won’t be able to see him. Even now, most children don’t believe in him, let alone a grown woman.

He’ll have to convince her, somehow, that he exists. And then he’ll have to convince her to, what, join him on a flying expedition and help him bring winter to the world? Or can she fly?

He glares upward, hoping the Moon can see him. “I know you think you’re being helpful, but, for the record, you’re _not_.”

And really, what _is_ he supposed to do? There’s no manual for this, after all. And she’s _human_. What’s he supposed to do with a human? Ice powers or not, this gig isn’t really one for anyone so… _fragile_ as a mortal.

His thoughts are interrupted by a parting in the crowd.

Curious, he maneuvers through the people to find what’s causing the fuss.

A woman holds onto a man’s arm tightly, curtseying to a third figure. The man bows as well, and Jack can tell they’re speaking but isn’t quite close enough to tell what _about_.

He awkwardly pushes around the whispering snow figures, huffing as he nearly falls over a short man with an obnoxious nose who’s unsuccessfully trying to flirt with a woman _miles_ out of his league.

By the time he makes it to the pair, he’s clearly catching the end of the conversation.

“Anna, what do you know about true love?” The woman he’s approaching from behind says.

“More than you!” Anna—the girl on the man’s arm—says, flustered. “All you know is how to shut people out!”

“You asked for my blessing, but my answer is no. Now, excuse me.” The woman makes to leave, but the man tries to interrupt.

“Your Majesty, if I may ease your—”

_Your Majesty, so this must be—_

_Queen_ Elsa awkwardly begins to walk away from the pair, and Jack finally catches a glimpse of her.

(Maybe it’s because he’s been experiencing her feelings for the last 24 years, but even as a snow figure, he can’t help but think she’s one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.)

“No, you may not, and I—I think you should go.”

As she leaves, she turns to who Jack assumes is a guard. “The party is over. Close the gates.”

Anna, evidently, is upset by this turn of events, and rushes forward. “What? Elsa, no. No, wait!” She grabs for her sister’s ( _this must be her sister, the one with the pigtails_ ) hand, but only manages to snatch what looks like a glove off.

Elsa whirls around, gasping. “Give me my glove!”

Anna doesn’t, holding it firmly in one hand, gesturing wildly. “Elsa, please. _Please_. I can’t live like this anymore!”

It’s difficult to read the emotions on the face of a snow figure, granted, but even like this Jack can tell Elsa is fighting tears.

“Then _leave_.” The queen says, and turns and begins walking away.

“What did I ever _do_ to you?” Anna yells in question, sniffling, and Elsa pauses in her steps. The party around them quiets and the dancing figures still.

“Enough, Anna.” She says warningly.

“ _No._ ” The younger sister says firmly, stepping forward in resolution. “ _Why?_ Why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the _world_ out? _What are you so afraid of?”_

Elsa’s chin trembles, and Jack can _see_ the moment her resolve breaks. “I said, _enough_!” Her hand flies out in emphasis, ice shooting from her fingertips to spike across the floor.

The once-dancing figures down cry out in shock, cowering away.

Anna steps backward. “Elsa?”

The girl in questions takes a step back, looks around—and immediately flees.

Jack wants to follow her, tries to, but is stopped by ice. He grunts, glaring at it, and then up to the sky.

“Come on, you can’t show me something like _that_ and not let me see what happens.” 

The Moon, as always, says nothing, but Jack’s staff burns with cold. He follows an impulse and taps it, gently, on the wall. The ice rumbles, vibrating beneath his fingertips, and then parts.

And Jack follows the fleeing Ice Queen.

\--

Miles away in Arendelle, Elsa yelps as Anna massages her foot.

“That _hurt_!” She says, yanking her foot away and glowering.

Anna shrugs and grabs the foot again. “No pain, no gain, sister.” She digs another well-placed thumb beneath Elsa’s toes.

Kristoff winces sympathetically. “I know it feels like they’re breaking, but it really does help.”

“This is _not_ what I had in mind when I asked.” Elsa says, arm slung over her eyes.

“Too late to go back now.” Anna says triumphantly, adding more pressure.

Elsa bites back a curse. “You’re only saying that so you can keep torturing me.”

“ _Torture_ seems like a strong word.”

Kristoff snorts and feeds Sven, who lays beside the couch, a carrot. “Seems like an _accurate_ word.”

Anna stops in her ministrations to shoot a look of betrayal at her fiancé. “I thought you liked my massages!”

Elsa takes the pause to escape, wiggling her foot away and scooting back towards the fireplace. “You’ll pay for that one, bud.”

Kristoff puts his hands up in surrender. “I do like your massages! I swear! They can just be… a little aggressive.”

Anna crosses her arms. “No, no. I understand. Well, don’t worry. I’ll never _torture_ you again.”

“No, Anna-” The blonde says pleadingly.

Elsa laughs a little to herself and rests her head against the wall as she watches the two bicker. She’ll admit it—she had doubts about Kristoff. They seemed fair, at the time. Anna had already proven that she wasn’t quite the best judge of men, and Kristoff talked to his _reindeer_.

Anna was a princess, Kristoff sold _ice_. At first, even with his help in the beginning, Elsa hadn’t quite been sure he was good enough for her younger sister. She didn’t mention this, of course, not wanting a repeat of the _Hans_ reaction, and it wasn’t like there was really anything _bad_ about him. Not that she could see, anyway, though he was a bit strange.

So she kept her thoughts to herself, let the relationship between the two spark and then flame and then _soar_ , and now Anna is _engaged_. And she’s happy for her sister, so happy, because Anna deserves this, deserves a man who will never leave her side, who will be faithful until he draws his last breath, will _fight_ for his wife.

She’s happy for Anna, really.

But she’s also a woman. And she hates it, but there’s a part of her, a tiny, niggling part that is outrageously jealous.

She wants her sister to be happy and to have her own life, but she’s three years older than Anna and there isn’t a prospect to be seen for miles.

And Anna tries to include Elsa, she really does. Still, though, Elsa worries. Anna already spends most of her time with Kristoff—not that Elsa can blame her—and it’s beginning to look more and more like Elsa might lose her best friend to marriage.

And end up just as she was before—devastatingly alone.

So, yes, she’s happy for her sister. She wishes her the best, and she’s glad Kristoff was the one who came along.

But she’s also nervous. Nervous about losing her, nervous about never finding a partner herself… there’s a lot to be nervous about.

“—Sven does too like my massages!” Anna says particularly vehemently, and Elsa is yanked out of her thoughts.

Sven is clearly attempting to be left out of the argument, and tucks his head under his hooves.

“I never said he didn’t!” Kristoff tries to placate her.

Elsa rolls her eyes and hops to her feet. “Tea, anyone?” She says over her shoulder as she heads for the door.

“No, I don’t need _tea_ ,” Anna says, glaring at her fiancé.

“Actually, tea would be great!” Kristoff says, smiling awkwardly.

“Back in a second.” Elsa says, heading outside to find a footman.

“Could we have some peppermint tea brought in, please?” She asks the first one she sees. “Plenty of sugar.”

“Of course, Your Majesty—” His eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. “I mean—uh, your Highness.”

Elsa watches the young man exit towards the kitchen. Once alone, she slouches down a nearby couch.

Even if she wanted to find a partner, how would a _queen-turned-ice spirit/princess_ even go about it?

Well, she thinks she knows how she’s _supposed_ to go about it. She’s supposed to shop around for eligible princes, go to balls and extravagant birthday parties and pretend like she cares about ugly overweight men’s ugly sons. She’s supposed to accept the strange courting rituals of the royalty of Europe, supposed to bow and scrape to the ones with money and influence, whether she likes them or not.

But she doesn’t _want_ to do that. She wants, more than anything, to find someone normal. Someone funny, who understands her and isn’t there just for the title, for her strange powers, for the money. Someone who gets why she isn’t living in the Arendellian castle, who won’t mind living in an Enchanted Forest.

The last bit, she suspects, will be the most difficult.

The footman from earlier arrives with a tea tray and quietly clears his throat. “Shall I bring it into the sitting room?”

“No, no, I can walk.” She carefully takes it. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your M—your Highness.”

She stifles a giggle and goes back through the doorway. “I’ve got the tea,” She announces to the still-bickering couple.

They quiet and Kristoff grins in relief. “Oh, good. Just what I need. You sure you don’t want any, babe?”

“I’m fine,” Anna mutters, arms still crossed.

If Elsa didn’t know that the make-up kissing was the primary reason the two argued so much, she might actually be concerned for their engagement.

“They put in plenty of sugar,” She says enticingly.

Kristoff glances at Anna, then stands to look down at the tray. “Looks like they gave us some chocolate, too. You _sure_ you don’t want any?”

Anna’s eyes betray her, but she still huffs quietly. “I suppose I’ll have a piece.”

Elsa sets the tray down and pours herself a cup while Kristoff plates a couple of the chocolates. She plunks some sugar cubes in (four—she’s not proud of it, but her sweet tooth is incorrigible) and goes to sit beside Sven.

But before she can set her cup down, a cold pain erupts in her stomach, making her drop the cup and yelp in shock.

“Elsa?” Anna says in concern.

She grabs her stomach, clawing at the spot that’s starting to spread the cold ( _cold—she hasn’t felt cold since—since—_ ).

“Something’s wrong,” She grits out as the pain spreads and spreads, rushing through her until her head is pounding.

Anna kneels next to her worriedly as Kristoff rushes to the door. “Some help in here, _now_!” He bellows.

“Just breathe,” Anna advises, hands rushing over Elsa’s stomach. “Where does it hurt?”

“ _Everywhere_.”

And then, just as quickly as the pain had come on, it quiets, and Elsa sits up as a song rushes over her.

A siren call, like one she hasn’t heard since she became the fifth spirit.

She rises, brushing away Anna’s worrying hands. “I—I’ve got to go,” Elsa turns, grabs Anna’s elbows gently. “Someone _needs_ me.”

Anna’s eyes widen, and Elsa can tell she doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter, not now, and so she rushes outside, calls the Nokk, and leaps onto his back.

Something— _someone_ is calling her back to Atohallan.

And this time she’s not ignoring the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading and leaving kudos/commenting! You're the reason I'm here! :) Glad someone's enjoying this little fic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glacier is almost—no, it is—glowing when the Nokk slows to a halt on the waves.
> 
> Elsa slides off and pats the Nokk on its side, watching the blue light beckon to her. 
> 
> She closes her eyes and sighs. “Here we go again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the spotty updates... a lot going on. May edit this chapter later, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out there. Enjoy!

The glacier is almost—no, it _is_ — _glowing_ when the Nokk slows to a halt on the waves.

Elsa slides off and pats the Nokk on its side, watching the blue light beckon to her. 

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Here we go again.”

-

Jack had _had_ to follow the ice queen. _Had_ to. After all, the snow images had left him on quite the cliffhanger, what with the beautiful woman’s powers being exposed to her entire kingdom and the subsequent dramatic escape.

So he’d pushed through the walls the glacier—or whatever magic the glacier had—had thrown at him, had ran to catch up with Elsa, had _jumped_ nearly 30 feet to not miss a thing.

He’d paused abruptly at the sight he found.

It was her—his person, his new companion, but she was… _singing?_

Yeah, singing. Definitely singing. And really well. Her voice wasn’t _good_ , like a school girl in a choir, it was—it was _incredible_. A voice he could see people lining up down the streets, going to concerts, _paying_ for. _That_ kind of good.

Though that wasn’t even the impressive part. The impressive part started when she started using her power, shooting ice, _building_ things.

Her magic—it wasn’t quite like his. It was more… elegant. Beautiful, really. Elsa sent swirls through the air, gorgeous loops and dazzling flurries that just _looked_ happy. Her powers were somehow—in the weirdest way—feminine. And seeing her happy, singing, free? The blooming warmth in his chest was his entirely.

She started small, with a snow man, but her confidence grew quickly. Next came a shiny set of stairs over a yawning chasm, and finally, the most remarkable thing: a castle.

Like, a literal castle. Designs shot from her fingertips, grew beneath her feet, pushing her upwards against the sky before she even finished her song, for the moon’s sake.

Jack’s not some weird narcissist or anything, but he knows he’s pretty powerful. He brings winter to the entire world every year. 

But what he was seeing? That was power, too. It nearly—it nearly matched his own, if he was being honest with himself, and she did it all _without_ a staff. With her bare _hands_.

He might’ve been intimidated if he weren’t so mesmerized.

He’d been strangely cold since he pushed back the barrier of memories, but to be fair, he’d also been fairly preoccupied with _her_. So he was fairly surprised when the cold started to _really_ hit him, when his fingers started going numb, his _lips_ started shivering—so by the time the frost started freezing him in place, it was too late.

-

The siren only grows louder as Elsa walks the icy dark paths through Atohallan. She _feels_ the push forward, almost like an instinct, so much so that she starts running towards the call.

She halts at the darkness of a cavern— _the_ cavern, actually, the one where she’d stood before memories of her mother, the one where she’d become the bridge to humanity. She’s been back here before, since that day.

She’d wanted to see if it always felt as special, as _sacred_ as it had then. It never did. It was just a normal glacier among an unusually turbulent body of water. Strange in that it had passageways winding through it, but no strange lights, no high-pitched songs. The cavern was just that—a cavern. Empty, dark. No magic snowflake glowing in the floor. Nothing.

Today, though—today it glows when she enters. The passageways flashes like they did _then_ , the siren call ringing through her ears. And the cavern—the snowflake is there. Not bright and colorful as she’d first seen it, but blue, solid. Gently shining.

And across the space is a hole in the glacier, a new passageway. One she hadn’t seen the last time she was here, but one that reminds her of the one she’d opened the _first_ time. 

The call doesn’t stop here. It’s coming from _there_.

She doesn’t know why, but she still feels a sense of urgency. Like something—or _someone_ needs her, like she has to follow the call again.

She runs across the cave, through the passage, and somehow isn’t surprised when it stops at a ledge. When she looks down and sees a faint glow, when the song pushes her to _jump_.

She lands on her feet, knees bent, hand to the icy floor to steady herself.

She looks up, and the song quiets.

A man stands in front of her, frozen.

She thinks she should probably be at least a _tad_ startled by what happens next.

But somehow, it’s natural. Familiar. _Right_. She’s _supposed_ to approach the figure of the young man. She _supposed_ to touch his cheek, gently, and close her own eyes. She’s _supposed_ to use that tug in her gut, call to the ice, and take away the layer of cold encasing him.

She doesn’t know why, and she really doesn’t know how, but when his first warm breath clouds the air, she’s certain of exactly one thing: without even understanding it, she’s been waiting on him. This whole time.

Maybe her whole _life_.

And he’s here.

-

Jack stumbles from the shock of it.

He’d frozen—something that has never, _ever_ happened to him, he’s _Jack Frost_ , for the Moon’s sake—and now he’s been tugged awake. Rather violently, actually, in that, for some reason, he can’t stop _coughing_. After he stumbles someone grabs him to stop him from falling, strokes his back as he gets past the coughing fit of a _lifetime_.

He doesn’t pay much mind to the hand on his back during this process, doesn’t give a second thought to the fact that someone is inside a _glacier_ with him in the middle of the _Dark Sea_.

None of that comes up until his coughing finally subsides. Until there’s a voice there _shushing_ him. “It’s alright,” It says gently. “Just breathe.”

Startled, he straightens and whirls his gaze to its source.

 _You_.

Elsa is clearly growing uncomfortable as he stares at her, so he makes an effort to look slightly less strange. “Erm—yes. Me. It’s nice to meet you…” Her voice trails off, and he realizes abruptly it’s because she’s waiting on him to say something. To introduce himself.

“Jack,” He tries, only it comes out raspy and awful. He clears his throat, her huge blue eyes making him feel self-conscious. “Jack.” He says again and keeps trying his absolute hardest not to stare at her like she’s an alien.

She’s just so _pretty_. “It’s really— _really_ nice to meet you too, your majesty.”

“Your Highness.” She mutters quickly under her breath.

He looks at her quizzically, and she bites her lip and blushes a bright pink. “I’m so sorry,” She takes a step back, as if realizing how close they were standing (really, _really_ close. Jack has to restrain himself from stopping her).

“It’s just—I’m not the queen anymore. That’s my sister.”

His mouth suddenly feels dry as they stare at each other. He’s lost the ability to speak. To be fair, North _had_ always said it would happen. That eventually, he’d run out of all his clever words and teases and someone, someday, would make him go speechless.

“So _Princess_ Elsa.” He manages to get out.

She looks relieved. “Yes. Technically.”

Jack picks up his staff. It’d fallen sometime after he’d been frozen solid. “How’d that happen? I thought you were—well. First in line and all, right?”

Her brows pinch. “Well, yes, but… don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

She gestures around them. “The spirits. I’m the fifth. Aren’t you…”

He snorts. “Wait, spirits?”

She looks offended at that, and he kicks himself. “Yes. I’m the last element. The bridge between the spirits and humanity.”

Her explanation is so confusing it just slips out, barely audible: “But you’re _mine_.”

If she was offended before, she’s pissed now. “ _I beg your pardon_?”

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” The words are just _tumbling_ out of his mouth, by the moon, “I just—” He tightens his grip on his staff. “I should explain who I am.”

Queen—no, _Princess_ Elsa crosses her arms. “I should think so.”

Jack sighs. “Can we go somewhere else, then?” He looks around. “This place gives me the creeps.”

She doesn’t smile, not really, but there’s a tilt to the edge of her lips that makes Jack really, really want to see her laugh.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He breathes in, tightens his grip on his staff, and calls to the wind to help him out. He feels it respond, the whistle around him, through his hair. He smiles and grabs her hand.

Elsa squeaks as though someone had burned her and jerks it away. “ _Excuse_ you?”

“Come on,” He offers his hand again. “Let’s go.”

She glares at him. “No, thank you. I’ll meet you up there.”

“What—”

But she’s gone.

As in, she’d _jumped_ , and somehow, he can see her shadow up at the top of the ledge.

“Coming, Jack?” She calls, and he chuckles to himself.

-

Yes, yes. She _knows_ what she’d been thinking earlier. She and Jack were _meant_ to know each other, meant to meet, they were part of some greater whole, whatever.

(And even if she tries to deny it now, that feeling is still there. They’re connected, and there’s nothing she can do about it.)

But Jack—she’s beginning to realize that Jack is _infuriating_.

It’d started in the glacier, when he’d laughed at her for believing in spirits, called her _his_ as if she was some _thing_ and not a person. Then he had the audacity to _grab_ her hand, as if he was going to save her or something. And now—

“I’m not _flying_ anywhere,” She says, _again,_ now that they’re on the shore.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “Alright then, _princess_ , how exactly do you plan on getting out of here?”

She barely keeps herself from tackling him and instead walks to the sea.

“What—what are you doing?”

She ignores him, closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind, knowing he’ll come, feeling his presence at it gets closer and finally stands by her side.

Jack yelps. “What is that? Elsa! What _is_ that?”

She turns, and the Nokk follows her back onto the shore.

“Not what, Jack,” She says, rubbing Nokk’s neck and feeling it crystallize into ice beneath her palms. “Who.”

He stares at the iced horse. “Uh.. yeah. Okay. Who is this?”

“This is Nokk,” She says, jumping onto his back. “The water spirit.”

“The water spirit.” He echoes, eyes wide.

She looks down at him, unable to keep herself from teasing him. “Are you scared?”

He laughs, all fake bravado. “Scared? Me? No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Jack looks at the Nokk, then at her. “Are you serious?”

“So you are scared.”

“No, I just—” He leans on his staff. “I’d rather fly.”

She doesn’t mean to look so triumphant, doesn’t necessarily _mean_ to smirk, but apparently it gets to him, because he lets out an exasperated huff and comes closer.

“Alright…fine. Scoot.”

“scoot..?— _Ow!_ ”

Jack shifts behind her, where he’d just _vaulted_ into place, and she makes a point not to notice the soft hands on her waist. “Oh, sorry,” He whispers in her ear, not sounding sorry at all. “Did that hurt?”

She shivers at the feel of his cool breath on the nape of her neck. “Ass.”

“Yeah, mine’s _really_ nice.”

She shakes her head. “Just stay still.”

By the time they get back to Arendelle, it’s pretty clear that Jack is never riding a horse again.

He squealed ( _squealed_!) when the Nokk took to the water, his arms reflexively wrapping around her waist when the spirit started to gallop. Every time the Nokk _did_ slow down, the man was quite vocal about how inefficient this mode of transportation was, how much more fun it was to fly, how it was faster, _and really?_ he _was scared? No,_ she _was just scared of heights._

Jack bolts off as soon as the water horse slowed to a trot in front of the castle and backs away several paces. “ _freaking ridiculous_ ,” He mutters under his breath, and Elsa has to bite back a smile.

She slides off and pats the Nokk’s neck in thanks. He whinnies once (Jack jumps), then turns and dives back into the dark water of the fjord.

“Come along,” She tells Jack as she strides to the doors. “I’m sure this’ll look strange, showing up in the middle of the night with a man, but we can speak in the sitting room. My—Anna’s staff knows not to say anything.”

“Actually, Elsa, there’s something I should tell you—”

She tugs the handle and sees a footman rushing to open it for her. “Just wait, we can speak privately.”

“As _great_ as that sounds—”

The doors open. “Your Majesty—Your Highness,” The footman says, looking flustered.

“I’m sorry I’m back so late, Ned,” Elsa says, brushing past him and Jack quickly does the same. “It’s been a strange day.”

“Quite all right, of course, Your Highness.”

Jack snickers and she glares at him. “Still, I know it’s an inconvenience. Would you mind setting up the sitting room for us?”

Ned’s brows knit together in confusion. “For…us? You wish to speak to me?”

“Well, no—"

Jack hops on a nearby table to examine a chandelier, and Ned tenses and whirls around at the noise of the jostle.

He doesn’t look at Jack, though, or even say anything, which strikes Elsa as odd. He relaxes a fraction and turns back to Elsa expectantly, waiting on her response.

Jack pokes at one of the hanging crystals behind the footman. “I suppose now would be a good time to mention that I’m invisible to everyone else. I highly suggest dropping the ‘we’, it’ll get you some odd looks.”

“Invisible—?” She looks at Jack, then back at Ned. “what do you—?”

Her footman looks concerned. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Jack grins behind him and nudges a basket off the table with his foot and Ned yelps when it hits his calf, jumping away from the offending object.

Elsa glares at Jack, mind whirling at the prospect of the impossibly infuriating man being _invisible_ to Ned. “It’s very drafty in here, isn’t it?”

The footman still looks shaken, but he agrees quickly with her comment. “It is, Your Highness. I apologize. I’ll—I’ll have someone inspect the area.”

She nods sharply. “Thank you. Don’t worry about the sitting room, Ned—I think I’ll just retire to my chambers. It is rather late, after all.”

“It is.”

“Goodnight, Ned.”

He dips his chin. “Goodnight, my lady.”

She turns away and makes her way down the hall toward her rooms, praying Jack follows her.

There’s a small crash and another yell from her footman, but in moments he’s walking beside her.

“A little _scandalous_ , isn’t it?” Jack teases her, swinging his staff in an arc. “The ex-Queen of Arendelle escorting a handsome young man to her room? I thought there were rules about that.”

She can’t say anything without looking insane to the guards posted every few feet down the all, so she decides to righteously ignore him instead.

“Though if _I_ were you and I saw someone that looked like _me_ , I’d probably break the rules too.”

She chances a sideways glare and walks a little faster.

Jack chuckles and jogs a little to catch up with her, tapping his staff on the helmet of a guard as he passes with a _clang_. “I’m just messing with you Elsa, seriously. I’m honored to be invited into your bedroom.”

She stops at the entrance to her chambers, finally, and jerks the door open. Jack wisely chooses to be silent as he slips past her.

She shuts the door behind her, making a concerted effort not to slam it at the sight of the white haired man lounging on her couch like he _owns_ it.

“This is really comfy,” He tells her, bouncing a little. “Like, seriously. Where did you _get_ this? Did someone make it?”

Elsa groans and sits across from him on her futon, putting her face in her hands. “Who are you, Jack? How do you know me? Why were you in the glacier?”

When he doesn’t respond, she chances a glance up at him.

He looks…embarrassed. She doesn’t know him well, it’s true, but from what she knows about him so far she doesn’t imagine this is an emotion that crosses his face very often.

“I’m…” He clears his throat, and the look leaves his face. “Well, I’m Jack Frost. I’m the friendly Guardian who brings winter and fun to the world.”

She snorts, and he raises a brow.

She looks him over, then meets his eyes again. He doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“Wait—are you serious?”

He twirls his staff with well-practiced ease. “Very rarely. But that wasn’t a joke.”

Elsa crosses her arms. Winter isn’t a _person_ —winter’s a _thing_. A season that happens every year. She wasn’t sure of much, but winter wasn’t caused everywhere, on that scale, but the man in front of her.

He stops the twirling abruptly, catching the wood in his hand. “You don’t believe me.”

“No one _causes_ winter. It just happens.”

He shrugs and sits upright. “I suppose you’re not _entirely_ wrong. Winter _did_ happen before I got here. But the Man in the Moon caused it.”

“The Man in the—” She scoffs and shakes her head. Maybe he’s crazy. It’d be her luck, right? The attractive young man she’d met, seemingly someone she’d have a connection with, is actually insane.

“You’ve got ice powers,” Jack says bluntly, and she shivers at the blueness of his eyes piercing hers. “Where did you think those came from?”

“The spirits, obviously.”

“The spirits,” He repeats slowly. “And where do you think _they_ came from?”

She can feel the blood rushing to her face in a blush and she fights the urge, taking a deep breath. She’s _not_ giving him the satisfaction. “Where do you think the _Man in the Moon_ came from, Jack?”

That stumps him for a moment, she can see it. But he brushes it off. “Don’t know. Still—if you can believe in spirits, in magic, why not this?”

The reasoning there is sound enough, she supposes. But still, her logical side rebels. “What do you mean, you _cause_ winter?” She hedges, approaching him. “Do you _think_ really hard and it just gets colder?”

She wasn’t really sure exactly what she expected. Maybe for him to break down and admit he was lying. Or prove himself crazy.

He doesn’t do either of those things.

He holds his arm out, as if waiting for a handshake.

“Give me your hand.”

“Why?” She asks reflexively, and he rolls his eyes.

“Please.”

Hesitantly, she drops her hand in his and soft fingers slide through hers. He smiles and grabs his staff from beside him, raising it gently to her skin.

“What are you doing?” She asks, tensing.

He doesn’t answer, but he does meet her eyes with his, icy blues trapping her, making her relax and still. The worn wood of the staff touches her hand, and cold creeps up her arm.

She glances down and sees ice crystals forming on the surface of her skin, erupting from the point of the staff. It’s not cold like the glacier cold… it’s something else.

Tingly.

She gasps, pulling her arm back and wrapping her hand around it protectively. Jack smiles at her. “Told you.”

She stares at her arm, at the cold designs circling her wrist. “You’re like me.”

“If you want to get technical, _you’re_ like _me_. But yes.”

She runs a thumb across the ice, feels it melt underneath her hand. He’s like _her_. He has powers. _Him_. Not a lizard, not a water horse, not animated air, but a _man_. A _person_.

“Causing winter is like that, just on a bigger scale,” He continues, oblivious to her mind’s chaos. “Usually I just touch the ground for a while, and you know, ice it. Then I go for a spin in the clouds and the snow starts, and _voila_ , it’s cold out.”

Elsa studies him. The curve of his nose, the messy hair, the sparkle of mischief in his eye. “Why are you invisible?”

 _That_ shuts him up for a second, sobers the sparkle. He plays it off quickly, shrugging. “Only the people who believe can see me. Normally it’s just kids, but you’re a special case.”

She eyes him warily. “What does that mean?”

He smiles, but it’s apologetic. “Earlier… I said you were mine. I’m sorry—that’s not really what I meant. It’s just weird to explain.”

“What _did_ you mean?” She pushes, sitting next to him.

He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip and watching his hands fidget. “I’m not going to be able to explain this without you thinking I’m crazy.”

“Try me.” She counters, softened by his nervousness. It reminds her of her sister.

“Well,” He says, casting a quick sideways glance toward her, “I’ve been around for a while. Like, a long while. I’ve lost count of how old I’m supposed to be. It’s in the hundreds.”

The statement surprises her, though she guesses it shouldn’t. If he really is a winter spirit (Guardian?), it makes sense that he’s really old. And potentially immortal. It’s just weird because he looks so _young_. His attitude, his mannerisms, his teasing—he seems her age, almost.

(Still, though—he’s got a way about him, now that she’s studied him. There’s a sadness in his eyes, too, behind the mischievous glint. Like he’s hiding years’ worth of wisdom, of weariness. So she believes him.)

“You look good for your age.” She tells him.

He raises a brow and grins at her. “Was that a joke, Your Highness?”

She fights the urge to scowl, knowing it’ll only fuel his bantering. “You were saying how I’m a special case.”

“Ah,” She might be imagining it, but she thinks he _blushes_?

He clears his throat. “Well, all the other Guardians have help, you know? All of them. And they’re great friends, really, but I didn’t have anyone _just_ for me, really. If that makes sense. Not like they did—they all have help. North has his elves, his Yetis, Tooth has her fairies—they just have someone there for them, and I don’t.” He bites his lip again in a way that’s starting to become startlingly appealing. “So I guess North was talking to the Man in the Moon and he… well, he decided to give me you.”

Elsa doesn’t think his explanation _don’t_ make sense, exactly. It just rankles her, a little, the idea that she has powers because the _Moon_ decided Jack needed a sidekick. And besides— “How do you know it’s me?” She questions. “I mean, I know I have powers, but I know a girl who used to have magic hair. How did you find _me_?”

He’s been avoiding her eyes for a while, and at this question he looks at the floor. He’s definitely blushing now—the tips of ears are a bright red. “That’s a very interesting story.”

She crosses her arms. “Do tell.”

He picks at his fingernails. “Ever since you were born, I’ve kind of—well, I mean, the Man in the Moon sort of _connected_ you to me.”

Her brows furrow. “What do you mean connected?”

Jack flexes his hands, knee bouncing in a way that reminds her of Anna when she’s done something wrong. “For the record, I’d like you to know that I did not, in any way, ask for this to happen, okay? It just kind of _did_.”

“ _What_ did? Tell me.”

“I can sense your emotions, Elsa,” He admits softly, finally meeting her eyes. “That’s how I found you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How ya feeling?


End file.
